


The Inner Shot

by Crollalanza



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 18:12:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14431287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: 'Nothing but a watered down version of Bokuto!' he'd thought.Inarizaki were not a team who lived off memories, or dwelt on regrets, but then Oomimi Ren isn't brooding over the loss to Karasuno, but rather something he left unsaid.Taking tea with Kita in a Tokyo cafe, he spies his former opponent and takes the chance to make things right.





	The Inner Shot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WildKitte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildKitte/gifts), [Andramion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andramion/gifts).



> This is for Kitte and Rowen because of a twitter conversation about their nemesis Oomimi Ren.

Oomimi Ren didn’t suffer from nerves before a game. There’d be a fizzing inside of his stomach—butterflies his Gran used to say—like the feeling when he was pushed high on a swing and hovered in the air before the momentum dragged him back—and then he’d be calm as he stepped on court. He was, he knew, known for his implacable face, stern and stoic, giving nothing away even as he blocked the tightest of spikes.

Life, however, was a different matter. And the confrontations he was never afraid of in a game were gnarly and fraught in the open.  That early evening was no different; his stomach twisted, and he thought of backing out, making an excuse and finding somewhere else to sit, but Kita was at his elbow and it seemed almost shameful to turn tail and run.

“Ren-kun, are you okay?” he asked.

“Have you seen who’s over there?”

“Hmm?” Kita’s gaze flicked to where Ren was staring and he clicked his tongue. “It’s hardly a surprise to run into any of them.” He winced, but only slightly, when a loud whoop was heard from the table. “They won their game, you know?”

He did know. Ren had been in the stadium and although his intention had been to watch Itchiyama’s game, Karasuno’s had not escaped his notice.

“Should we…” Ren chewed his lip, wondering.

“Join them?” Kita asked, eyebrows raised. “I don’t think that’s necessary. Acknowledge with a nod or a bow if they see us, but I hardly think—”

“I didn’t mean that,” Ren said and then sighed because he wasn’t sure what he’d meant with his question. Joining the pair sat together and now fooling around as they built houses and towers out of sugar packets, wasn’t what he’d had in mind, but a brief nod wasn’t either.

As he hesitated, Kita pushed past him, wriggling up to the counter and asking the boy serving for a tea … “No, hold on. Ren?”

“Hmm?”

“Pot of tea for two?”

“Yes. Thanks.”

“Which type?”

“Uh …” Briefly his mind switched back to the true purpose of the visit, and visions of leaves waving in the breeze infiltrated his mind, whilst his nose twitched as he searched for an answer. “Lapsang Souchong?” he suggested.

“Mmm, why not?” Kita smiled as he made the order, helped himself to two china cups (discarding one with a less than clean handle) and pushed the tray along to the end of the line.

The tea was smoky. Ren didn’t pour for a while, letting it brew in the shiny metal teapot. Kita preferred china, saying it kept the tea warmer for longer, so if they were in a café where the teapots were metal, he’d leave the brewing of it to Ren, letting him judge the time and the strength. In truth Ren found the ceremony of tea to be something alien to him, but he knew Kita needed the ritual, and for his own part it did no harm to sit and wait, to drink tea from loose leaves rather than bags, or to select lemon slices instead of milk.

“You’re distracted,” Kita remarked.

Ren’s eyes flicked back to Kita, and away from the two in the corner.

“We lost. Brooding solves nothing.”

“It’s not that,” Ren replied.

“You have no regrets?” A slight laugh, which from anyone else might have been underscored with bitter limes, but in Kita sounded like sweet oranges, only a little tart.

“Of course I do. I’m not a robot,” Ren nearly snapped. “But not about the game or the way we played. Merely that we lost.”

“Only that?” Kita was stirring his tea, adding a drop of milk instead of lemon, his eyes tilting up to Ren.

“We underestimated them.”

Kita considered, eyes focused, looking down at his cup. “We knew they were the dark horse team—beating Shiratorizawa proved that—but their opening match was nothing special. We did the preparation we could.” He took a sip, and let his lips smack together in satisfaction. “Even Atsumu said that Kageyama had developed exponentially since that training camp.”

“I … don’t mean him, or the little guy.” Perhaps he should keep his thoughts to himself, drink his tea and let the conversation drift to something other than the game they’d lost to focus more on the future and not be mired in the past. He shook his head. “Forget about it.”

“But something _is_ bothering you.”

A movement from the other table caught his attention. The shorter of the two, the Libero with the crazy dyed hair, had got up and was bowling to the back of the café in search of the toilets, leaving the other guy who was now placing each pack of sugar back in the bowl.

“I…” Ren began, and stirred his tea. “I underestimated _him._ ”

“And that’s nagging at you.”

“Mmm.” He tried to take a sip of his tea, but no sooner had he raised the cup to his lips, the smell of smoke mingled with his regrets and he could only taste sourness in the air.

“I’m going to tell you to leave it alone because nothing you can say will make a difference to the result, but …” He trailed off, but his eyes didn’t leave Ren’s face.

“It’s not about the result.” Ren made his mouth twitch up, hoping to lighten the sudden heaviness draped over them both. “We don’t need memories, right? And it’s not a memory I’m after but …” He leant forwards. “I meant to say something when we shook hands, but I’m not sure I believed what had happened.”

“His friend is returning,” Kita murmured. “And picking up his bag.”

 _So they’ll be gone soon._ Regret cloaked him again, and the feeling he’d misjudged the player tightening the cord around his throat.

“He’s left,” Kita continued, then reached across to touch Ren on the arm. He smiled a little. “But his friend is still there, and scrubbing at his mouth with a napkin. Perhaps he has a date.”

“I thought he was a watered down version of Bokuto,” Ren muttered, hoping the explanation made sense.

The butterflies fizzed again, and Kita sitting back, a hum of expectation on his lips did nothing to calm Ren’s nerves, and yet it appeared he understood. “I’ll be over here, Ren-kun,” he murmured, looking just as he did when standing on the sidelines, willing his team to victory.

Ren paused for a breath, his heart thumped harder in his chest, but still he stood up, decision made because who was he to back down from a confrontation?

It took four steps to get to the table on the other side, a distance that had appeared so insurmountable and long, but was over in a trice, with no weakened knees or tripping over feet, or dodging tables or …

“Excuse me?”

“Uh, yeah, I am using the table.” The boy—Ren’s last opponent— looked up, a scowl on his face, which cleared then reappeared again when he saw who it was, except this time a flash of alarm sparked in them. “Uh … sorry, I’m waiting for someone, or I would let you have –”

“I have a table,” Ren interrupted, and gestured to where Kita was sitting. “May I sit down? It’s only for a minute.”

“Uh … sure,” the boy said, puzzled but not _un_ friendly.

“Oomimi Ren,” Ren said, sliding opposite. “And you’re Tanaka, right?”

“Uh-huh. Tanaka Ryuunosuke.” He blinked. “You’re … uh … all still in Tokyo, then?” He looked around, somewhat warily, perhaps expecting the twins to pelt him with volleyballs.

“The hotel was already booked and paid for. Some of them went home, but Kita-san and I have stayed to look around the universities,” he explained, not adding that it had all been planned for next week, and this week was now an exercise in killing time.

Tanaka processed the information, saying dubiously, “Are you after sugar? Only you c’n have these. I ain’t using them.”

“No … no. It’s …” He inhaled. “I’d wanted to say something to you when we shook hands, only I didn’t.”

“Oh, right.” Tanaka pressed his lips together, and his hand drifted to his head, scratching the back of it. “What did you want to say?”

Ren met his eyes. “Sorry.”

“Huh? What for? We beat ya.”

“For not thinking you were much of a player,” Ren said, then heaved in a breath, hating that it stuck in his throat when Tanaka’s eyes bulged.

“Say what!”

Kita had put his cup down, and through averted eyes was watching the exchange, smoothing out a napkin.

“I underestimated you, and I think that showed. You see, your style is reminiscent of Bokuto Koutarou’s and I thought you’d modelled yourself on him,” Ren explained quickly, and tried a smile but he knew from what Atsumu always said that his smiles were scary and not the least bit reassuring, so he screwed his face into a frown instead. “I expected you to crack.” He licked his lips. “To not bounce back.”

“Oh.” Tanaka swallowed the last of his soda, and started to tap his fingers on the table top. “I’ve played against Bokuto-san. He’s amazing, and I like his style of play.”

“Your inner shots…”

“Were pretty shit,” Tanaka put in. “Yeah, I know.”

“I wasn’t going to say that.”

“I was kinda mediocre in _that_ game.” Tanaka shrugged, but he didn’t _sound_ like a shrug, tension woven in his tone.

“You were resilient,” Ren said. “We didn’t break you. And in the end, _you_ stormed through us.”

A blush suffused Tanaka’s cheeks, two patches of pink. “I’ve got great teammates.”

“We didn’t break you,” Ren repeated. “And we tried.”

“Why?” Tanaka chuckled. “You’re not the first team to try. Kinda never sure why, ‘cuz one thing I do know is that I ain’t the weakest player on the team.”

“Hummm.” Ren tilted his head to the side. “It’s the fire, I think. You’re … you’re like a beacon for your team, a bit like that Libero of yours, so if we can douse the beacon, then the team is much… _colder_.”

“Ah… right.” He sounded confused, and it struck Ren that Tanaka Ryuunosuke might know his worth, but he didn’t understand it.

He leant forwards. “Bokuto’s known for his mercurial moods, as well as his talent. I saw your first spikes and expected you to be the same, but … you didn’t give up.”

The bell on the café door sounded, and Tanaka, more attuned as he was waiting for someone, twisted his head around, whiplashed back, and then turned to face the tall newcomer picking her way through the tables, a flustered smile on her face.

“Ryuu-chan?” she called, waving before her eyes widened when she saw Ren.

“Ah, your … uh … date?”

“Friend,” Tanaka muttered, the pink on his face deepening. “Plays for Queens.” And he couldn’t keep the pride out of his voice.

“I’ll leave you to it. Thank you for listening.”

“Uh… yeah. Thanks,” he replied, but his attention was only on her.

“Good luck for tomorrow’s game,” Ren said, getting to his feet. He bowed to Tanaka and to the girl as she slipped into his vacated place, staring up at him, then to her hands. And Tanaka, with a final nod to Ren said goodbye before sliding a menu across to her.

 

“Your tea is cold,” Kita said when he returned. “Shall I buy us some more?”

“I’ll buy. Do you want a cake, too?”

The corners of Kita’s eyes crinkled. “Why not? We’re not in training now.”

 


End file.
